The Faded Attic
The candle flame in the attic of the Thorne manor did not so much burn as it trembled, a thin, nervous thing that cast Elias Thorne’s shadow against the peeling wallpaper in jagged, shifting spikes. He woke with the taste of ash in his mouth, the phantom weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder, a pressure so physical it felt like a bruise forming across his ribs, a sensation that was not...
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